“It’s Saint Peter who greets you when you die.” I rolled my eyes. “Right, well, he’ll be there too obviously. But when Jesus saw your name on the naughty list he was like, Pete, I gotta come down and hang out with you at the gates and see this bitch for myself. Fuckin’ chancer, she is.” “He’s not Santa. There’s no list.” “Well, of course there’s no list. It’s all a load of bolloxology, but I’m not going to let that get in the way of making fun of you, am I?” “Heaven forbid.” “They would if they could. They try and ban everything fun.”
